Becoming the Cannon Fodder Wife of Crazy and Powerful Official - Chapter 11

When Xin Yueying returned with the donkey cart, there was no sign of Bai Lan’er inside or outside the house.

It being her first visit here, she might have gotten lost on the unfamiliar roads and hadn’t arrived yet.

Xin Yueying paid her no mind. She hung the fish in the kitchen, carried the wine jug back to the main room, and took out the steamed buns she’d bought along the way from her robe, placing them on the small table.

She glanced casually at the man lying unconscious on the heated brick bed in the corner.

Huo Qi had likely gone hunting, while Shen Qingqi remained half-reclined on the bed. The window before him was slightly ajar, and he stared blankly outside in a daze.

The wheelchair Xin Yueying had made for him sat unused by the bedside.

She unwrapped the oiled paper, releasing the savory aroma of the meat-filled buns. Grabbing one, she offered it to Shen Qingqi, “I bought these—pork filling. Try one.”

Shen Qingqi ignored the bun, his gaze shifting to the wine jug on the table as he reached for it.

“This whole jug is yours—no one’s fighting you for it,” Xin Yueying said, swiftly covering the jug with her hand, “Eat first. Drinking on an empty stomach isn’t good for you.”

Shen Qingqi turned his eyes to her, “Give me the wine.”

Xin Yueying didn’t yield, “Drinking without eating will hurt your stomach.” She took the jug away and placed it on the table across from the bed.

Taking a bite of her bun, the rich meat juices burst in her mouth, utterly satisfying, “Hurry and eat—they’re delicious!” Her cheeks bulged as she pointed at the buns, “They won’t taste as good if they turn cold.”

“If I drink myself to death, wouldn’t that free you to remarry?” Shen Qingqi tilted his head to look at her.

It didn’t sound like teasing—more like a genuine question.

“You won’t die,” Xin Yueying met his gaze, “Just eat. One bite, and all your troubles will vanish.”

She didn’t bother with empty words of encouragement—they were meaningless.

When someone is shrouded in melancholy, some will tirelessly urge them to persevere, to fight, to keep moving forward.

Others will tell them: It’s okay to feel down. It’s fine to rest awhile—but don’t forget to try a hot bun.

She picked up another bun and thrust it at him, “Take it already—it’s burning my fingers!”

Almost against his will, Shen Qingqi reached out and accepted it.

Xin Yueying ate with relish, her lips glistening with grease. She gestured to the edge of the bed with oily fingers, “I bought some cotton. When I have time, I’ll pad the edges so your knees won’t get scraped when you move around. But I’ll have to finish the wheelchairs first.”

Shen Qingqi watched her silently.

“Guess what? The wheelchair I made sold! Carpenter Yang ordered more—even lent me a gray donkey for deliveries. Said to cover it with cloth so no one copies the design.”

Her grin widened as she grew more animated, “At this rate? Thirty taels a day, sixty in two days, ninety in three—in a month, we’ll be rich!”

“Not so easy.”

Xin Yueying was startled that Shen Qingqi responded. She paused mid-bite, “Oh?”

“Sooner or later, others will copy it. Once they learn how, prices will drop as everyone undercuts each other. Eventually, it’ll just replace ordinary wheelchairs at standard prices. The profitable window is narrow.”

Shen Qingqi’s tone was detached.

Xin Yueying was taken aback.

Damn, he’s got a point.

“If it were you, how much would you sell it for?” she asked.

“Something this novel? People would pay any price at first.” He paused, looking at her, “But I wouldn’t take money. I’d demand shares—a large stake—to form a partnership.”

Xin Yueying’s right eyelid twitched. She felt the phantom weight of half of Old Yang’s workshop slipping through her fingers, “Ugh! Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

Shen Qingqi lifted his gaze, “Did I have the chance? I was nearly poisoned to death by you just days ago.”

Her eyelid twitched again as she forced an awkward grin, “That was… unavoidable. Can we just drop it? Turn the page?”

The corner of Shen Qingqi’s mouth quirked—almost a smile, “Fine.”

After finishing the buns, Xin Yueying placed the wine jug on his table, suggesting he save some for dinner. She then bustled outside to prep ingredients, chopping vegetables and rendering lard from pork fat.

Just as the lard began bubbling, Bai Lan’er made her grand entrance.

“Is this the Shen residence?” She stood in the yard, eyes first locking onto the gray donkey tethered to a post. After scrutinizing the cart, she marched to the kitchen window and glared at Xin Yueying through the pane.

Xin Yueying stirred the pot without looking up, “Can I help you?”

“You must be Xin,” Bai Lan’er sneered, medicinal case in hand. Her nostrils flared with contempt, “That donkey looks familiar—from the Meng household. You’ve been there recently, haven’t you? Scheming with that Song woman?”

Xin Yueying side-eyed her, “So what if I went? Should I shamelessly leech off their kindness without lifting a finger? Unlike some, I have dignity.”

“Drop the act! You deliberately turned that hag Song against Ruxin! You’re the troublemaker—a rotten, scheming—”

“Let me rinse that filthy mouth!” Xin Yueying scooped boiling lard scum and flung it at Bai Lan’er’s face, “How dare you shriek at my home!”

“Ahhh!” Bai Lan’er staggered back, wiping scalding grease from her eyes, only to trip on a stone and crash to the ground.

Xin Yueying stormed out, spatula in hand, “‘We’ll see who laughs last’? Ha! Try laughing now! Save the threats—bring it if you dare!”

Bai Lan’er scrambled up, hurling her medicine case down, “Ruxin sent me out of kindness to treat your husband! How dare you attack me!”

“Ohhh, kindness now?” Xin Yueying planted a hand on her hip. “Here to ‘treat’ him, or eye him? Lard scum’s too good for you—filth like you deserves sewage!”

Bai Lan’er trembled with rage, “No wonder! No wonder—”

Xin Yueying planted a hand on her hip, tilting her head challengingly, “No wonder what?”

“No wonder your husband can’t stand you!” Bai Lan’er shrieked, her voice piercing, “You vulgar shrew! Truly an ill-bred, uncouth woman!”

“How amusing, Miss.” A clear, resonant voice cut through the air from inside the house. “That you would know my feelings towards my wife better than I do.”

Xin Yueying froze, instinctively turning toward the sound. There sat Shen Qingqi in the wheelchair she had woven, his narrow eyes glinting with an intensity that could freeze fire.